Model Prisoner
by BohemiaLMM
Summary: Roger has an obsession. With Mark. RogerMimi, RogerMark. Rated M to be safe.
1. Liken a Razor

Disclaimer: I do not own anything nor anyone associated with Rent. It all belongs to Jonathan Larson. Second, I do not own the title of this story, nor any of these chapters. They're all titles of songs from Adam Pascal's CD, Model Prisoner (which I have absolutely nothing to do with as well).

Author's Note: Eep. For those waiting for There's Only Us: it WILL get done! I don't have any inspiration. I should get some soon. I hope. On a brighter note, I just bought Model Prisoner! Yay for me! I can't believe I found it. So, naturally, I need to write a story based on these songs. This one will get done. I've got my wonderful Krissy here to slap me if I stray away. I don't want to bore you anymore, so, enjoy!

_**CHAPTER ONE: Liken a Razor**_

_You make all the rain explode and pour the thunder on the faceless_

_I'm holding my own in the face of you._

_-- Liken a Razor_

Roger sits on the couch, staring at Mark's door. In there, Mark is sleeping. A small smile creeps up on Roger's face. He can clearly picture his best friend. Eyelids lightly closed. Hair falling delicately on to his forehead. An honest smile as he escapes the world for another night. Roger likes to see this in his mind. If he could, he would draw it. He thinks he should learn.

The sound of Mimi in the bathroom diverts his attention. He shakes his head a bit. This type of behavior, he thinks, is pathetic in a man like him; it's a school girl crush. Roger knows he's got a wonderful girlfriend. He loves Mimi. Mimi loves him. He cannot imagine being with anyone else. Well, anyone besides Mark. The sad part of it all, and Roger knows this as much as he knows Musetta's Waltz, that what he feels for Mark is much more than a school girl crush. In fact, it's much more than anything. An addiction.

Roger cannot stand his passion for addictions. From the guitar to heroin, he's been tied to everything. Mark is just the same. There is something about the filmmaker that Roger cannot live without. The musician isn't sure if it's the way Mark's eyes twinkle, or the way he smiles, or the way he takes care of him. Roger keeps expecting withdrawal symptoms when he hasn't been around Mark for a few hours. A few years ago, this scared him. Now he's grown used to it. He's come to thrive off of it. Mark isn't an addiction anymore. He is an obsession.

"I'm sorry I took longer than I said I would, babe."

Roger looks over at Mimi. His wonderful, beautiful Mimi. Freshly out of the shower, her hair in it's gorgeous curls, falling over her shoulders. She's even wearing her best outfit. Not the usually, sleezy clothes she wears, but a wonderful dress that shows off all the right things. It doesn't even compare to Mark in his sweater and jeans.

"Oh, it's fine. I barely noticed." Roger smiles. He feels like an idiot, fooling Mimi. What else can he do?

"Are you ready to go then? If you aren't, I'll be mildly disappointed. You've had plenty of time to get ready, after all."

"I'm ready. Let's go." The musician gets off the couch running a hand through his hair. He smiles once more as Mimi laughs, walking over and fixing it. She kisses him and takes his hand, leading him to the door. That's when Mark's door opens.

Roger's head turns immediately to look at Mark. He fights off a grin. Mark's hair is a mess, and his t-shirt and boxers are wrinkled beyond recognition. The filmmaker yawns, then smiles when he sees the other two.

"Oh, hey guys," he says sleepily. "Where are you off to?"

"We're going out for the day," Mimi replies. "It's my birthday, and Roger's promised me a perfect day." She leans up and kisses her boyfriend on the cheek.

"Happy birthday then. I'm sorry I didn't know. I'd have gotten you something."

Roger thinks Mark looks brilliant with that apologetic look on his face. Mark sniffles. Roger frowns.

"Are you alright?" In less than five steps it seems, Roger is by Mark, inspecting him.

"Er … Yeah, Rog. I'm fine." Mark moves away from Roger. "I've got a bit of a cold, but I'll live."

"Do you want me to get some cough syrup while I'm out?"

"We don't have any money for cough syrup." Mark laughs. Roger swoons. "Since when do you care about anyone but yourself, anyways?"

Roger is about to reply with a long rant about how he's always cared about Mark, and Mark shouldn't think otherwise. Then he remembers his girlfriend is waiting for him, and that Mark was merely joking.

"You'd be surprised." It's all Roger can think of to say.

"No witty remark? I think you're feeling sick, Roger, not me."

Once more, Roger prepares a rant about him taking his meds, but a sound from Mimi stops him.

"I'll see you later, Mark. Take it easy. I don't want you getting more sick than you need to be."

As Mark makes a sound of recognition while he hunts for the Captain Crunch, Roger rejoins Mimi. She kisses him, he kisses her back. He wonders if Mark was watching, but has no time to notice. Mimi all but drags him down the stairs. A sigh escapes him. All of this obsessing is getting harder to maintain.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm still trying to figure out exactly what's going to happen. So, don't expect an update too soon. I do have a feeling there will be a sequel though. If someone is kind enough to get me a copy of Civilian. 


	2. Just Here to the Left of You

Author's Note: Lookie! And update! I am so proud of me. By the way, this chapter was a complete surprise to me, so, yeah. Thanks to my reviewers, by the way! You make me happy! Enough from me. Enjoy!

_**CHAPTER TWO: Just Here to the Left of You**_

_Confusion, indecision_

_I don't believe I'm too far to be saved._

_-- Just Here to the Left of You_

Roger does not get home until the early hours of morning. He looks blissfully frazzled, and smells of shoddy nightclubs with an undertone of scented candles. In a completely ungraceful manner, the musician manages to plop himself down on to the couch. Staring at the ceiling, he vaguely recalls the events of the day, and a loose smile lights his face.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he sees himself and Mimi, cleaned up more than they probably have ever been, sitting in a quaint little café. Murmured conversation flows through Roger's memory, tainted with laughter and sweet kisses. The scene changes completely, unexpectedly, and the guitarist is thrust into wild memories of dirt clubs with bright lights and loud music. He sees Mimi dancing with other men, himself at the bar, and knows, somehow, he must have been thinking about Mark. He remembers Mimi coming over to him, and all is lost from there. Suddenly, Roger's head hurts, and he groans in protest.

Roger doesn't even notice Mark is awake until he is standing over the couch.

"I take it you and Mimi had a good night?" Mark's voice is tired, as is his smile. He didn't mean to come out and check on Roger. He supposes it's just habit by now.

Looking up at Mark, Roger grins a bit. His head is still pounding, and he notices, but he doesn't care. A smile has never done that to the musician until Mark came along. It makes him feel drunk all over again.

"Roger? Are you alright?" A wand is waved in front of Roger's face.

"What? Oh … I suppose." There is a distant, drunken sound to the guitarist's voice.

Mark's concern turns back into a tired smile, filled with amusement.

"You suppose what? You're alright? Or you had a good night?"

"Both. The night. Both."

"You're completely wasted." A laugh escapes Mark, and Roger pushes himself into a sitting position, simply to be closer to the sound

"How else would I know that I had a good night?" Roger grins. It's a funny, lopsided, drunk grin, and it makes Mark laugh more. Roger doesn't mind Mark laughing at him.

"Care to tell me, then?" Looking expectantly at Roger, Mark sits down next to him.

"I don't quite remember …" Roger frowns. He looks at Mark, who's raised an eyebrow, and finds himself digging through the depths of his memory. Since when he did become such a people pleaser? "We went … To this café. And ate. Lunch. Brunch. It was good. And we … Did … Stuff. I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, smiling.

Mark smiles in reply. Roger grins. Mark coughs a bit. Roger frowns.

"I forgot you were sick." Who would've thought Roger could move across a couch so fast? "Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

"'Motherly' is not an adjective that suits you, Roger." Mark lightly pushes away the bigger man. "I'm fine. Everyone gets little coughs." He turns to look at Roger reassuringly, and then notices something that makes his face fall.

Mark and Roger have been friends for years. So, it's no surprise they know practically everything about each other (sometimes even against protests from the other one), nor is it surprising that they've been through everything with each other. In fact, Mark has been through Roger's bouts of hell so many times, it's become a constant sharing experience between the two. This is also how Mark can notice things almost instantly when it comes to his best friend. After all, you don't help a friend through withdrawal and all that jazz for nothing.

"You were doing drugs, weren't you?" It is a flat, emotional question that's more of an accusation than anything else.

"… What?" It is completely clear that Roger cannot fathom what Mark is talking about. "I didn't take any drugs."

"Roger, don't pull this shit with me. I've been your friend throughout an entire drug addiction." Mark is anything but happy. He grabs Roger's arm and pulls up the sleeve, and repeats the process with the other arm. His search shows nothing.

"There. See?" A smug look finds it's way on to the guitarists face. This seems to make Mark even more angry.

"Don't fucking start with me." The filmmaker stands up, towering over Roger. "I'm not naïve, Roger. I know there are other drugs besides heroin."

"Then why did you check my arms?"

Mark ignores him.

"We made a deal, Roger, a fucking _promise_. No drugs of any kind." Mark's anger wanes. "You were doing so well, Rog … What happened?" He gives the other man a look, and Roger can't help but turn away his head in shame.

"I told you, Mark. I didn't do anything tonight, alright?" Yet, as Roger turns to look at his friend, a new memory hits him like a ton of bricks.

The last club of the night. It was one Roger had never been to before. Maybe he had, but not recently. For good reason. The place was filled with junkies and addicts of every kind. It was like the ultimate rave party. Being the conscientious man he is now, Roger confined himself to the bar, and only the bar. It wasn't until twenty minutes later that Roger actually saw Mimi. She was high, and he knew it. He hardly questioned her when she took his hand, bringing him over to some people he'd never seen. She kissed him, told him to close his eyes, and he humored her. She said to open his mouth, and he did. He knew almost instantly what was going on when the ecstasy hit his tongue, and then forget it all in a hypnotic spiral of colors and sounds.

Mark doesn't miss the guilty look.

"I knew it."

Roger doesn't miss the disappointed sigh. In an effort to defend himself, he jumps off the couch, stumbling slightly.

"No … Mark … Listen. It wasn't like that. I didn't want to. It just happened."

"Like hell it did!" Mark glares at Roger. "You had a fucking choice. You know you did. Don't start feeding me this shit. I'm not going through this again."

"I'm not a fucking addict, Mark!" Roger's tone surprises both of them.

"You had better not be." Saying nothing more, Mark goes back to his room.

Having nothing to do, Roger sits down again. He blinks at the wall. A new fear starts creeping into his mind. Has Mimi done this to him before? Another groan leaves him. Roger has a feeling it's going to a be a long and difficult week.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes. I've got no idea about this chapter either. Maybe the next chapter will be better planned? Haha. Please review. It makes me smile. 


	3. Every Time Around

Author's Note: I hope this is a quick enough update for everyone. This was a difficult chapter to get through, and, I, personally, find it to be a bit sloppy. Hopefully you all like it nonetheless. And, thanks to VivaLaVieBohemeA for some wonderful tips on getting rid of writer's block. This is prbably this last chapter with a lot of Mimi in it. She will bemost likelybe mentioned, and she may make an appearance later, but don't expect anything too soon. Enjoy!

_**CHAPTER THREE: Every Time Around**_

_Dreaming far away, every time around_

_See, it's only love, God, it's only love._

_-- Every Time Around_

Roger's feelings have been right. It has been nothing short of a horrible week. He's hardly left the loft, due to Mark's suspicions, and, try as he might, he can't stand talking to Mimi. The musician hates getting into moods like this. It usually attracts a lot of attention, which he normally doesn't complain about, yet this bothers him. He can't stand Mark's constant looks, nor Mimi's constant efforts at conversation. Even when neither of them are breathing down his neck, Roger is still bothered. He knows how they sneak around when he's in the bathroom or locked in his bedroom. He knows they're trying to find evidence of something that's going on. He knows they talk about him.

Right now, as he bites his nails down to practically nothing, he hears Mark let Mimi into the loft and say something to her. All he catches her muffled reply, and, suddenly, there is a knock on his door. He doesn't answer. Another knock. Mimi shuffles away, and the sound of the couch being sat on reaches the musician's ears. Roger groans, ever so slightly. He can't let Mimi and Mark know he's awake. Heaven forbid they come into his room. With a grumble, he lies down on his bed.

---

Mark watches Mimi sit on the couch. He looks from her concerned expression, to Roger's door, and back again. He understands, to a point, what she's thinking. When Roger gets like this, secluded and isolated, things are usually … Not good. Of course, he knows that he's part of the reason. Over the passed few days, a guilt has been forming in Mark about his reaction to Roger on Mimi's birthday. What he can't understand is why the guitarist is ignoring Mimi.

"Don't worry. He gets like this." Mark sits next to Mimi, leaning his head back against the couch. "He'll come around."

"I know," is Mimi reply. "It's just … He hasn't been behaving oddly just this passed week … He's been … Not himself for a long time." She looks to the filmmaker. "I thought he and I were through this. We aren't fighting now. But he's … Not the same." She frowns, looking to the ground.

Mark listens, as he always does. He takes in everything she says. Each word gets processed into his mind. What Mimi is saying would sound like, to someone who simply knew Roger, normal Roger behavior. To people like Mark, Mimi, and Collins, though, there's something lacking. Mark is almost bothered that he can't put his finger on it.

"Maybe it's just one of his moods?" Mark cannot offer anymore. "I'm sorry, Mimi. I wish I could help. He and I haven't exactly been our usual selves towards each other, either."

Mimi says nothing. She gets up, a look of determination on her face, and goes over to Roger's room. To Hell if he's sleeping. She doesn't even knock on his door. She just walks in.

Roger is startled at the intrusion. He looks up from his bed, and frowns.

"Mimi?"

"Roger … Babe … We need to talk." Mimi sits on Roger's bed. She takes his hand and looks at him sadly. "What's been going on with you lately?"

Pulling his hand back, Roger looks at his wall.

"Nothing. Nothing's been going on."

A small, annoyed glint flashes in the dancer's eyes. Mimi has tried to teach herself to be patient with Roger. This is a difficult task for someone with a short temper. She puts her hand on Roger's cheek, turning his face so they're looking at each other.

"I know when something's wrong with you, Roger. We've been through enough together. It's not that hard to point out. You aren't as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are."

Roger could almost roll his eyes. He already got this little spiel from Mark, he doesn't need it from Mimi. He vaguely wonders if Mark told Mimi to say that, or if both his best friend and girlfriend were just that much alike. There's a pause in Roger's thoughts. Is that why he is dating Mimi? The thought is discarded. Mimi and Mark are nothing alike, and that is why Roger is growing bored of his amazingly sexy, stripper girlfriend. If he were still in high school, people would beat him up for that.

"Did you ever stop to think," Roger asks (in lazily, exasperated tones), "that I could be mad at you?"

This seems to surprise Mimi.

"Mad at me? But, why?" She frowns.

"Mimi, you slipped me some ecstasy last week at one of those clubs!" Roger no longer sounds lazy and exasperated. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"You were being boring! I just wanted you to let loose and have fun." It's a weak argument, but Mimi didn't want to work out some big lie.

"You could've just asked!"

"You wouldn't have done anything!" In a flourish of angry scowls and brown curls, Mimi gets up. She storms out of Roger's room and heads to the door of the loft. Naturally, Roger follows/

"I just want you to be happy, Mimi. How am I supposed to do that if you don't give me a chance?" As Roger watches Mimi, waiting for an answer, he can feel Mark's ever watchful eyes on him.

"I've given you plenty of chances, Roger. I haven't been happy for months!" Mimi opens the door to the loft. She looks at Roger. Her eyes practically beg him to tell her what she wants to hear; what she needs to hear to stay.

"Maybe I just don't love you anymore!"

It is exactly the opposite of what Mimi was expecting, and the harsh tones of Roger's anger did nothing to hide just how truthful the words were. As tears form in her eyes, Mimi shoots Roger a glare that could kill.

"I hope you're happy, Roger Davis." Her voice is pure venom. "We're over. For good." Her final words ringing in the air, Mimi leaves.

Mark, slowly, gets up from the couch. He walks over to Roger, looking at him. It takes a moment for Roger's attention to turn away from the door, and the filmmaker nearly flinches at seeing the fire that still blazes in the musician's eyes. He relaxes once Roger's look softens, and they both look at each other momentarily before looking back at the door.

"She'll be back." Mark's words, all though soft, break the silence sharply. "She always is."

"Yeah."

Both men know, however, that Mimi's final words were as truthful as Roger's confession, and neither expect her to return anytime soon. Roger cannot help but feel happy about this.

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah ... I can't say I'm really happy about this chapter. Oh well. It's done, and I can start on the next one. Reviews make me a happy, motivated writer. :D 


	4. Model Prisoner

Author's Note: Agh. I'm so incredibly sorry for the dely in this. This was one hell of a chapter to write. It isn't even long. Haha. I haven't been feeling all that great lately, so that's sort of been getting in my way. But here is an update. I don't think chapter at all, by the way. It's empty. I'm going to really try with the next one! Please enjoy it anyways. :) And thanks to my wonderful reviewers. I'd be nowhere without you.

_**CHAPTER FOUR: Model Prisoner**_

_But when we're broken, we hate to be broken_

_It's hard enough to breath in and out_

_-- Model Prisoner_

Three days have passed. Or maybe it's been four. Possibly it's been two. Roger can't really remember, nor does he really care to remember. Mimi hasn't made any sign of forgiving Roger. They haven't even run into each other. The beauty of knowing each other's schedules, Roger decides, is that avoiding each other is easier for him than taking a breath. However, this activity of avoidance has plunged the musician into a world of nothingness. He would probably occupy his time and boredom with Mark, but, for reasons unknown to even Roger, he cannot comfortably face his roommate until the separation from Mimi seems much more final.

Of course, Roger is only human and being lazy can get too much for him sometimes. Unable to face the world just yet, he's needed something to jump into, to make time go by and let his thoughts and emotions stew. Music has always been there for Roger when he needed it, and now he's relying on it again.

It was the day after Mimi made her exit that Roger had noticed, sitting, undisturbed for a while now, in the corner, the box he kept of all his old music that had no place in his guitar case anymore. Having nothing to do, and knowing this would be the case for a while, the guitarist fetched the box and set it down on his bed. There, he proceeded to lift all the pages from inside. Once they were sitting nicely on his bed, Roger began to shift through the sheets of music, making a mess of the only thing he ever kept organized. Afterwards, he put it all back in the box, making a note to sort through all the song properly whenever he felt too lazy to do anything else.

So, feeling incredibly lazy and useless at the present moment in time, Roger picks up the box and, once more, places it on his bed. He takes the sheets of music, each one marked with his scratchy writing, and lays them down one by one. Carefully, methodically, Roger puts the songs back together. He sorts them into groups –unfinished, finished, useless, needs to be fixed up; a lot of songs go into "needs to be fixed up." As his musician-hands piece together another song and prepares to put it in a pile, he stops and looks at the song. A laugh escapes him.

Years ago, when Mark first started dating Maureen, Roger had loved teasing the filmmaker about the way he fawned over his girlfriend. Eventually, when he had run out of other things to do, he wrote a song that, to the average person, would seem like a wonderful written by an amazingly gifted musician. To Roger, Mark, and all their friends, it was one of the best inside jokes they'd ever had. And, although this memory brings a smile to Roger's lips, what makes him laugh the most is the irony of the song. He had had no idea that this song would eventually reveal his inner workings. In a way, that disturbs him, but he pushes passed that and forgets all about the rest of the songs for now. He picks up his guitar and starts to play the familiar song before him.

Mark pokes his head into the room, and, when Roger notices, the guitarist strums a bad note. His fingers rest above the strings, and his eyes watch his roommate. Mark walks into the room, only semi-aware of the analysis he's receiving. He stands near the door, with a smile playing on his face.

"Were you just playing what I think you were playing?" It is clear to Roger that he isn't the only one amused by the memories the song invokes. Mark moves over to where his friend is sitting and picks up a page of the song. "I didn't know you still had this."

"Neither did I," Roger replies. He feels as though he hasn't seen Mark in years. He also feels slightly intoxicated by the sudden closeness of him. "I found it with the rest of these." He motions vaguely to the other songs, trying to focus his attention on something else.

Mark flips through the music, making sure to keep it all as organized as Roger had it. His eyes pass over each song, remembering when Roger wrote it and when he first heard it. Roger, who normally would watch to make sure his precious songs weren't messed up, is entranced by Mark's hands. Perfect hands, he thinks. They look delicate, but Roger knows better. He cannot count the number of times he's relied on those hands to pick him from a night of drunken stupor, or to hold him when he had nowhere else to turn to. Roger loves the hands. He wishes he could kiss him.

"You're sorting all of them?"

Roger's head snaps up to look at Mark. Luckily, Mark looks up only when Roger does, so Roger knows he did not notice Roger's hand-watching.

"Yeah … Into piles." Roger clears his throat. Of course Mark knows he's sorting them into piles. Mark isn't blind. Roger needs to clear his head. "Unfinished, finished, useless, needs to be fixed up."

"Where does this one go?" The filmmaker holds up the song Roger was just playing.

"Well … I don't know …" There isn't much Roger can think of at the moment.

"I think it's useless now. I mean, unless you know someone else to taunt with it." Mark grins while Roger reaches for the song.

"No … I guess not." Roger wants to say that, yes, he does know someone to taunt with it. He doesn't like the idea of taunting himself though. "Useless it is." He puts the song on top of some blank sheets, two stacks away from the useless songs. Mark stands up, and Roger watches. "Where are you going?"

"Maureen wants me to go into the city with her to meet Joanne for lunch. They're having issues again." Mark laughs a bit.

"Er … Tell them I say hi."

"Alright. See ya." Mark smiles and leaves Roger's room.

Once Roger hears the door of the loft close, he picks up the song once more. The title, the lyrics, everything screams at him. He would like to think that the song means nothing to him, and says nothing about him. But he knows better. He cannot deny the slight ache he got as soon as Mark left.

* * *

Author's Note: Yep. Not much to say. I think I just need to stop planning and just ... Write. Please review. It makes me smile, and it keeps me going.


	5. Which Way to Nowhere

Author's Note: How's this for a quick update? Oh yeah. I'm awesome. Don't worry, next chapter we start with the slash! And it's (hopefully) going to be a Mark-focused chapter. I'm actually planning now. Enjoy. :)

_**CHAPTER FIVE: Which Way to Nowhere**_

_It hurts to be lonely, it hurts to be near you_

_It's already over, I'm starting to wear down._

--_ Which Way to Nowhere_

Roger is disoriented. Finally, after what seems to him like eternity, he's starting to be truly happy again. Although Mark is still oblivious to just how much attention he receives from his roommate, Roger cannot complain. The two friends spend more time together now, and that is enough to make Roger happy for weeks.

Of course, as with all good things, there comes a price. While Roger is happy when he's with Mark, and even afterwards, it does not take long for a sinking feeling to appear in the pit of his stomach. As he grows more and more used to the filmmaker's presence, his longing grows a bit more. It's worse than any addiction Roger has ever had, and it makes him unaware of everything but Mark.

He rolls out of bed, pushing away all thoughts of loneliness and inner pain. Today is the anniversary of when he and Mark first met, and Roger is determined to let nothing spoil the good mood. Feeling a giddiness that he's never experienced before, Roger digs through his room to find the cleanest clothes he has. Unfortunately, his search comes up with a pair of partly torn jeans and a t-shirt. Quickly, he changes and then he makes his way into the living room, ready to wait for Mark to wake up so they can begin their day.

Mark, however, doesn't appear from his room until around noon. Roger is annoyed by this, but does not show it. Instead, he puts down his guitar (which he has been plucking at for the good part of two hours) and grins at Mark from the couch.

"Took you long enough."

Mark gives Roger a bleary look. He is still getting over his sleep, and has a very vague idea about what Roger is so anxious about. As his memory settles, he smiles tiredly.

"Right. Sorry. I had no idea that you would be waiting for me to get up."

Roger just rolls his eyes, clearly amused, and in good spirits. He gets up and places his hands on the filmmaker's shoulders, shivering unnoticeably at the physical contact. He steers Mark back into his room.

"Get dressed. We've got a long day ahead of us." Roger closes the door to Mark's bedroom.

--

By the time six-thirty in the evening rolls around, Mark and Roger are already on their way to being more than drunk. Their day consisted on nothing more than going around the city, acting as out-of-hand children would without supervision, and terrorizing the poor staff at the Life Café. So here they sit, topping off an exhilarating day with a variety of cheap alcohol.

"Nonono … S'not like that," Roger stammers out. "It's like … You take a square. And cut it in half." His eyes grow slightly wide.

"… Like rectangles?" Mark frowns, this conversation actually making some sense in his drunken haze.

"Better than those."

"Wow …"

"I know."

Silence overtakes the two momentarily. The only sound in the loft is that of two bottles being tipped back and some of the contents being swallowed.

"S'been a long time since we've done this, eh, Marky?" A lazy grin spreads across Roger's face.

"Long time," is Mark's echo. "Ought to do this more often."

"I completely agree."

"Yeah … Yeah, I agree too." Mark gives a firm nod. He raises his bottle. "To us!"

"To us!" Roger repeats.

The two men clink their bottles together, and down a gracious amount of their drinks. Roger feels like he might get sick. Mark gets up and goes into the bathroom, where he does get sick. Roger finds this extremely funny. He puts down his bottle and stumbles over to the bathroom, just so he can laugh at Mark.

"S'not funny."

Mark tries to look offended, and fails miserably. Roger laughs more and drops to his knees next to Mark. It isn't until Mark hits him feebly, and rests his head on the edge of the bathtub, that Roger stops laughing.

"Hey … Are you ok?" Roger tries to look at Mark without going cross-eyed.

"Oh yeah … Totally fine." Mark looks up slightly at Roger, with an unimpressed, ill look. Roger's attention was caught immediately, and he didn't go cross-eyed.

Even when he is drunk out of his tree, Roger finds him fully appreciative of Mark's eyes. They're like oceans, he decides. The kinds of oceans people paint or photograph. Captivating eyes, with unknown depth. The musician leans closer. He decides he can drown in those eyes. Then everything goes black.

* * *

Author's Note: Reviews make me happy. And, since it's my 16th birthday today, don't you think I deserve them:-P


	6. The Time it Takes to Fall

Author's Note: Yes! An update at last! I was suddenly hit with this need to write, so I did. And, guess what! I'm HAPPY with this chapter! Woot! I really, really am. There is a God. Thank you to everyone who gave me birthday wishes. :) It was a nice surprise from you all. Now, enough about me. Enjoy this chapter!

_**CHAPTER SIX: The Time it Takes to Fall**_

_A kiss, a plead, a wave goodbye_

_A dream, a drug, a kiss goodnight._

-- _The Time it Takes to Fall_

Mark wakes up with a groan. He clenches his eyes shut against the pain that's sitting in the back of his head, and sits up. As he opens his eyes, Mark realizes he's in the bathtub. He doesn't remember much of the night before, and does not want to think too much about it. Instead, he stands up shakily, fixes his glasses, and climbs out of the tub. Almost immediately, he pulls his foot back and he blinks down to the floor. There is Roger, spread out on the floor with his mouth slightly open and his hair askew. Carefully, Mark makes his way out of the bathroom.

Mark makes some coffee, gets dressed, and sits on the couch. He leans back, resting and closes his eyes. Today, he decides, he can stay in the loft and do nothing. His body aches too much from sleeping in the bathtub. Besides, he can spend more time with Roger this way. It used to seem as though his friend was never around, and, now that he is, Mark figures he's allowed to make up for lost time. Roger doesn't seem to mind, in any case.

As if Roger can hear Mark's thoughts, he stumbles out of the bathroom with his head in his hands. Mark opens his eyes, and watches.

"I made some coffee," he says.

In response, Roger mumbles something incoherent and he shuffles to the kitchen. He sits next to Mark, nursing a cup of coffee and running a hand through his hair.

"Some night last night," he says at last.

Mark nods.

"Yeah … How did we end up in the bathroom?"

"I _think_ you got sick."

"Oh."

Mark shifts a bit as silence falls upon them. He watches Roger out of the corner of his eye. To him, his roommate is fascinating. He loves how complex Roger can be, and how simple he can be. He loves the raw human emotion Roger can go through and triumph over. The way Mark sees it, there is no one quite like Roger, and Mark is secretly proud to be the closest thing to the musician (next to Roger's music, of course). And, as odd as it sounds, Mark is secretly proud to be in love with Roger.

Of course, this isn't the type of love that gets thrown around every day, nor brotherly love, nor friendly love. It goes beyond physical and mental attraction, into physical and mental connection. In a way, it's a lot like how he felt for Maureen, with one major difference. When it came to Maureen Johnson, Mark Cohen fell hard and he fell fast. In the case of Roger Davis, Mark Cohen experienced the true length of time needed to fall in love.

"Mark … Have you ever been with a guy before?"

Reality slams into Mark as Roger's words pull him out of his thoughts. He slowly turns his head towards Roger (partly because of his shock, mostly because of his headache).

"… What?"

"I asked," Roger replies, with a slow patience, "if you've ever been with a guy before."

"… Why are you asking?" There is a cautious tone to Mark's voice. He isn't sure where this conversation is going, and, until he is, he is not keen on revealing anything that could be used against him.

"No reason really …" It is obvious that Roger is carefully picking out his words. He is only partly looking at Mark, and his face is set in a look of mild concentration. "It's just a thought I've been … Thinking lately."

Mark's interest is caught.

"Oh?"

"Yeah …" There is a pause while Roger chooses his words. "Just for … I don't know … Fun, I guess … Something to do … Something for _us_ …" Roger stops. He looks completely at Mark now, judging if he ought to finish or not. "We should hook up." It comes out much less suave and practical than Roger intended it.

Mark cannot help but smile. Whether he is amused or gleeful, he cannot yet tell.

"Roger … Is this just for your own amusement, or are you, for once, being serious?" Mark's smile turns into a grin and the look of offence on Roger's face.

"I'm not always trying to be an ass, you know!" A scowl forms on Roger's face. "That's not funny. Why are you laughing?"

"I never said anything about you being an ass, Rog." Mark wipes at his eyes a bit.

"Fine." Roger's scowl is replaced by a look of arrogance. "It was only a suggestion. If you're going to be like this then I ca-"

"Roger, relax!" Mark waves his hands at his roommate. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Alright?" He waits a moment for his grin to fade back to a smile. "You were being serious then?"

"Insanely serious. Totally serious." Roger nods.

"Well …" Mark looks at Roger. He takes in the eagerness of anticipation that sits clearly on his face. "I guess I'm willing to give it a try. Just for fun, I guess … Something to do … Something for _us_."

The two men sit there, looking at one another.

"Well, good." Roger stands up. "I'm going to get an aspirin."

"And I'm going to bed." Mark stands up as well.

They give a nod to each other and turn to go their respective ways, both barely concealing manic grins.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, what do you all think? Reviews are lovely, you know. They keep me writing. I need it, too. Still six more chapters to go! 


	7. Ordinary Boy

Author's Note: Yay. Chapter Seven out of twelve. Completion is in sight! Anyways. There is a scene in here that was inspired by a review from rexmanningdays. I loved the idea, and immediately thought of where to put it. I'll tell you what it was after the chapter (although I'm sure you'll figure it out), so I don't spoil anything. This is a shorter chapter than the others ... It's kinda fluffy. I blame listening to techno while writing (don't ask how that works). I like parts it, I dislike other parts. I hope you like it, though. Enjoy!

**_CHAPTER SEVEN: Ordinary Boy_**

_In my hand and in my mind, I see your face_

_One up from violation._

-- _Ordinary Boy_

Roger scowls and rolls away from Mark, pulling the blanket with him. It is the first night the two men are sharing a bed together, and it is not going well. Mark has discovered that Roger is possibly the most fitful sleeper in all of New York City. He kicks, flails, and shifts so much that Mark can't believe that this same man can be so still and silent when he's awake. In fact, Mark will not be surprised if he has a few bruises in the morning.

On the other hand, Roger has found out that Mark is more of a bed and blanket hog than he would ever imagine. He's spent most of the night tugging at the blanket for warmth and pushing Mark aside so he can be comfortable. In response, Mark tosses him a sleepy glare and they fall asleep again for nearly an hour.

By now, Roger's had enough. He sits up and runs a hand down his face and through his hair. Mark wakes up at the feeling of the bed move, and he squints tiredly at Roger.

"What's wrong?"

"You," Roger replies, rather bluntly. "This place is freezing. Don't you think _I_ could have some of the blanket, too?" He does not look impressed.

Mark holds his ground.

"If you didn't keep kicking me I wouldn't try to stop you from being able to do it."

"That's a lame excuse, Mark."

"You're a lame excuse, Roger."

Roger can't help it. He breaks into a grin and laughs a bit. Mark frowns, but he, too, laughs, and pushes at Roger.

"Stop it," Mark says. "I'm trying to put up an argument."

Laughing more, Roger catches Mark's hands before he can be pushed again. Mark grins in response, and suddenly frowns as he sees all humor fade away from Roger's eyes.

Roger looks down to where his hands hold Mark's. His hands holding Mark's. Inside, Roger is almost beside himself. He runs his thumbs lightly over the smooth skin. He cannot help but tremble slightly. Mark's hands seem so fragile; Roger is almost afraid to break them. He can feel Mark's on him as he brings Mark's hands to his lips.

It starts with one kiss. It is soft, delicate, hardly noticeable, in the centre of Mark's palm. Roger repeats with the other hand. Soon he is trailing kisses along both hands, on the palms, on the backs, across knuckles. The kisses themselves are progressing as well. They are no longer gentlemen-like kisses on the hand. It is almost as though Roger's forgotten that they're hands, and thinks that they're lips. He catches a small glimpse of an amused smile from Mark, who thinks this is all fun and games. For now, Roger will go along with that.

After a while, Mark grows tired of this. Roger frowns in disappointment as he feels Mark pull away his hands. His pout fades once those hands are replaced by Mark's lips. If there is anything Roger likes more than Mark's hands, it is Mark's lips. The two wrap their arms around each other and fall on to the bed. It is only moments before they stray away from lips and start kissing whatever they can. Necks, ears, noses, cheeks, eyelids – nothing is left untouched by the other's lips. Finally, when they are out of breath and cannot find anything else to kiss, Mark and Roger pull apart.

"That was fun," Roger says with a smile. He pulls Mark closer to him.

Mark nods and moves around a bit, so he is snuggled up to Roger.

"And tiring." He grins a bit, earning a small laugh from Roger. "I think we need to try sleeping again." A yawn adds emphasis to his suggestion.

"Hmm … I guess …"

Roger closes his eyes and finds a comfortable position to sleep in. Mark pulls the blanket up around him and Roger, making sure it is equally shared. It does not take long for them both to fall asleep, which seems to only happen if they're tangled up together. Not that they mind.

* * *

Author's Note: The hand kissing thing was totally not my idea. rexmanningdays can be thanked for that. It's a brilliant thing. But, it's not even an original idea ... S'from a movie, I believe. So don't get us in trouble! Just review and tell me your thoughts, and I'll love you forever.


	8. Cellophane Sun

Author's Note: Talk about a quick update, eh? I just had the urge to write, so I did. I'm sorry that this chapter is even shorter than the previous one. I don't think I could get much more out of it, even if I tried. And, I forgot to mention last time, that this is now officially my most review story! Thank you all muchly. Now enjoy the quick update, because, as much as I want it to happen again, I don't know if it will.

**_CHAPTER EIGHT: Cellophane Sun_**

_Morning is a dream, a break in the night_

_Life is but a scene, a moment in time_

-- _Cellophane Sun_

Mark sits on the counter, eating his usual breakfast of Cap'n Crunch. The bruises he received from Roger the other night while he was flailing around are fading now. He and Roger have developed amuch betterway of sleeping by now. Still, the memory of their problem brings a smile to Mark's lips.

He watches as Roger walks out of the bathroom after taking a shower. With slow, thoughtful chews, Mark wonders about the other man. Lately, Roger's behavior has been changing awkwardly and almost drastically. It intrigues Mark as much as it worries him. He slides off the counter and dumps his bowl in the sink. When he turns around, he is greeted by a still-wet Roger, who happens to be wearing only a towel around his waist.

A blush flares up quickly in Mark's cheeks.

"Roger! What the hell are you doing?"

"It's not like you haven't seen me in just a towel, Mark," Roger says. "We've lived together for years."

"That's not what I meant." Mark's response is almost a mumble. "Stop sneaking up on me." He tries to move passed Roger, and is blocked.

"I just wanted to say hi." Roger puts on a pout and nuzzles Mark's neck a bit. Although Mark cannot complain, his mind wanders.

This is a further development in the ever-changing acts of Roger. In a matter of days (a couple of weeks or so, if one is to be technical), Mark has watched Roger go from happy, to secluded, to normal behavior, and then to how he used to be before April committed suicide. He is much forward and open now, which Mark knows he should be happy for, yet, as with all things, there are some downfalls.

Roger is almost strangely possessive of Mark's time now. He is constantly around Mark, and when Mark is going out, he puts on a pout. After this, Mark usually makes it half way down the stairs before feeling guilty and returning to the loft. Roger is always touching and kissing and looking for any form of physical contact. Mark does not mind this so much, but he is not comfortable enough with the whole situation to fully enjoy it. He still wants his personal space sometimes.

Mark smiles a bit once Roger is done nuzzling him.

"Can I go to the bathroom now?"

"I still haven't said hi." Roger grins, taking obvious delight in this.

"Well, hurry up and say it. I'm dying here. You take longer showers than a girl."

"You've told me that for years, Mark, and it's never once changed anything." Roger kisses Mark's ear.

Mark, in reply, whines.

"Roger …"

"Fine." Roger pouts. "Hi." He steps out of the way so Mark can go.

"Thanks."

Mark smiles slightly again and goes to the bathroom. Before he walks out of the bathroom, he tries to shake off the uneasy feeling that is building inside of him. He doesn't know if he feels like this because he is still growing used to being Roger's boyfriend, or if it's because there's something going on that he can't point out. Things like that bother Mark.

Peering out of the bathroom door, Mark sees that Roger is in his room. Quickly, taking advantage of this, Mark grabs his camera and throws on his jacket and scarf. He can leave, finally, without knowing Roger is pouting because of it. Of course, Mark knows Roger will lay on the guilt trip once he gets home, but that's alright. Mark needs to get out of the loft and think.

* * *

Author's Note: Oh. Someone's getting suspicious. Just wait ... Two more chapters and Roger's obsession will cross the line. It's all building up! Next chapter, we can welcome back Mimi. Reviews make me a happy and eager writer. 


	9. The One That Got Away

Author's Note: Wow. I'm getting good at this update thing, eh? Look at me. Three chapters in 24 hours. I'm making up for the lack of quick updates earlier on. That, and tomorrow's Valentine's Day, and, if I don't get another chapter up, then this is my gift to you all. Everyone say hello to Mimi. She's back. And, you know, I totally don't write Mimi. Ever. So cherish this. I like this chapter ... Just a little bit to get away from the other stuff and set up some irony. That's enough then. Thanks for reviewing! Enjoy!

_**CHAPTER NINE: The One That Got Away**_

_I know the games you play_

_Goodbye to the one that got away_

-- _The One That Got Away_

Mimi sighs softly as she walks up the stairs to the loft. In her hands is a small box. In the box are a few of Roger's possessions that she knows he'll be wanting back. This is Mimi's least favorite part of a break-up. She can't stand the "returning of the stuff". But, what must be done must be done, so she puts up with it. Besides, it's not as if she can avoid seeing Roger forever. They live in the same building. And, although she has no intention of getting back together with Roger, she feels as though things needs to patched up between them.

She knocks on the door and waits a moment. From inside the loft comes a gruff voice, telling her to come inside. Taking a slightly deep breath, Mimi pulls open the loft door and walks inside.

Almost immediately, Roger focuses on her with reproachful eyes. He feels suddenly on edge, not trusting Mimi to a certain degree. His eyes flick to the box she holds, then back to her.

"My stuff?"

"Yeah …" Mimi sets it down on the floor. "I wouldn't brought it back sooner, but I wanted to wait a bit … So we could both calm down." She wants to walk over to Roger, but stays where she is. Mimi knows she gave up a lot of freedoms when she said goodbye.

"Thanks." Roger gets off the couch and picks up the box. "I've got all your things sorted out. You can come get it if you want." His tone is careless as he walks to his room. Mimi, having nothing better to do, follows.

Standing in the doorway while Roger proceeds to search for the box of her things, Mimi watches her ex. Mimi has had many relationships, but she will never forget her time with Roger. He can be a bastard and a jack-ass, and sometimes even worse, but he is irreplaceable. For all of his bad moments, he's had a number of good ones.

But Mimi's time with Roger is passed, and she knows it. She does not regret her mistakes (she never does) and thinks about the good that came out of the relationship. Mimi hopes that the next person Roger finds is wonderful, and that he will finally be happy.

Roger places a slightly bigger box than the one she brought into her arms.

"Here. That should be everything."

"Thanks, Roger." Mimi smiles, accepting her possessions. She walks out of the doorway to the bedroom, and turns to look at Roger. "How are you doing?" It is a difficult question to ask.

"… I'm alright." Roger stands there, alert. He cannot help but feel that she is up to something.

"You look good." The response and the smile is enough to relax Roger a bit. "Have you written anything new lately?" It is an obvious stretch for conversation.

"No … I've been … Busy."

"Oh …" Mimi nods as the awkward tension sets in. She shifts her weight for a minute or so, staring at the floor and everything around her. "I guess I'd better go. I've got work in a bit. A girl's got to pay her rent, after all." A laugh familiar to Roger's ears leaves Mimi.

"Right. Thanks for bringing my stuff back." Roger rubs the back of his neck.

"I figured you'd want me to." Mimi walks to the door. "Don't be a stranger, Roger." She is already out the door, but Roger can picture her small grin perfectly.

Mimi's grin slides off her face and turns into a ghost of a smile as she nears her own apartment. She hadn't expected Roger to respond to her with open arms, and is therefore pleased that he was so civil with her. After all, Roger Davis is hardly on to forgive and forget, and for him to show any sort of welcoming attitude is an amazement in itself. Mimi chuckles slightly at this and walks into her home.

The first thing she does is sit down and sort through her things. There are a few hair ties, some clothes, a couple magazines, and other various odds and ends a girl leaves at her boyfriend's house. At the bottom of the box is one of the first pictures ever taken of the two of them together, and, straight away, Mimi hunts down a frame for it. She sits the picture next to her bed and smiles slightly. Roger may have gotten away from her, but whoever finds him next, she decides, is luckier than one would think.

* * *

Author's Note: End chapter nine. Three more chapters to go, people! Two requests. Any have the songs from Civilian? I need them for my sequel! Secondly, I think you should review. I'm trying to break 100 reviews with this story. I know it can happen. Because you're all wonderful like that. Next chapter shit hits the fan. Just so you know. 


	10. Precious Little Meltdown

Author's Note: I am a master of the updates. Holy shit. Chapter 10 of 12. The end is near, people. So ... This chapter has been in my mind the longest, and, you know, I think it could possibly have been my favourite to write (not my favourite over all, but just to write). This is my official Valentine's Day gift. I won't update until Wednesday or later, I think (sorry - I'll try for earlier, no promises). As mentioned earlier, shit hits the fan. Enjoy.

_**CHAPTER TEN: Precious Little Meltdown**_

_Then I drown in a precious little meltdown_

-- _Precious Little Meltdown_

It has taken a couple of weeks for Mark and Roger to grow accustomed to dating each other. They can now sleep together without fighting before settling down, and Mark is not as uncomfortable to Roger being constantly around him as he used to be. In fact, they've found something they quite enjoy. Cuddling.

Mark was quite amused upon first realizing Roger's like for cuddling. He made fun of it, at which Roger pouted and protested. Mark has grown to like it just as much, though. If they wanted to, the two of them could sit on the couch for hours and cuddle. But that would be boring and a waste of time, so they only cuddle for a little bit at a time.

Right now is one of those times. Mark and Roger are curled up cozily on the couch, arms wrapped around each other, eyes closed. It isn't until Mark feels Roger's lips on his earlobe that he realizes he was falling asleep. He smiles and turns his head to meet Roger's lips with his own.

The kiss is just like all their other kisses. It is playful and fun, and it isn't until Roger pulls Mark closer to him that it starts to turn serious. Mark makes a small sound of surprise when Roger deepens the kiss and puts a hand on the back of his neck, keeping the two of them close together. Mark supposes that this would have to happen sooner or later, so he goes along with it. He feels Roger's fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. This makes Mark slightly nervous, and soon he is being pushed on to his back on the couch. When Roger pulls his lips away from Mark's to trail kisses along his neck, Mark watches Roger warily.

"Roger … I don't think we're … Ready for this …" Well, perhaps Roger is, but Mark knows he most certainly isn't. He's only just grown used to sleeping in the same bed as the other man. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen for a while yet.

Roger looks at Mark, his hair hanging around his face like a curtain, casting a shadow over the sudden need in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Mark … Relax … You'll like it." He kisses Mark's earlobe gently, and bites at it a bit.

"No … Roger … I mean it … This isn't fun anymore …" Mark pushes slightly at Roger.

But Roger isn't listening. He's too caught up in everything about Mark's body to focus on the pleads and protests. His lips move everywhere they can, and his hands, one of which he's sliding up Mark's shirt, are growing just as greedy. Roger shifts himself a bit, pressing against Mark and closing his eyes at the feeling that shoots through his body. When Roger's other hand starts sliding along the waistline of his pants, Mark realizes that he isn't going to be listened to. He starts to panic slightly.

As Roger moves to kiss along Mark's collarbone, Mark pushes against Roger's chest. The push surprises Roger, who pulls back and frowns. Mark wastes no time in jumping up from the couch and moving away from Roger, towards the door. As reality comes crashing in around Roger, and realization slaps him across the face, he turns to look at Mark with wide eyes.

"Mark … I ... I wasn't …" Roger's thoughts are jumble. All he can think about is touching Mark and kissing Mark and smelling Mark. He knows he can't think about that now. He knows he's done something wrong. Roger gets up off the couch and takes a few slow steps towards Mark.

Mark backs away again.

"No, Roger … Don't …" Mark's voice is hardly a whisper. He's been scared of Roger before, during his heroin addiction, but that is nothing compared to this.

"I didn't mean to, Mark. I'm sorry …" Roger doesn't know how to fix this. This is the reason he hates addictions. They always turn around on him. "I won't do it … I promise …"

"How do you expect me to trust you right now?" Mark is almost pleading. He hates this as much as Roger. He is frustrated; he feels used. For all he knows, he was simply a rebound from Mimi.

"Mark … Don't be like this …"

Mark shakes his head.

"I'm going to spend the night at Collins' place … I can't stay here tonight." He grabs his jacket and hurries out of the loft.

Roger blinks and watches Mark before racing after him. Things weren't supposed to happen like this. He and Mark were supposed to be happy together. They were supposed to be perfect. They have to be. Roger doesn't think he can have it any other way.

Half way down the stairs, Roger is met by Mimi. She was obviously on her way up to see him. There is a quizzical frown on her face and she watches Roger stand on the stairs, panting from his adrenaline rush and his quick run.

"Mimi … Did you see Mark?" He looks over her shoulder.

"As a matter of fact, I did. He moved passed me so quick, I didn't even know it was him for a moment. He looked terrified. What the hell happened?" Mimi folds her arms, making it clear to Roger that she will not move until he answers her.

Roger stares blankly at Mimi. What is he going to tell her? He's in love with Mark? He and Mark were – are – have been – seeing each other? He practically raped Mark? Roger doesn't know if any of those, particularly the last one, will go well with Mimi.

Mimi watches Roger, and the looks she gives him hits him hard. It is not one of anger or shame, but sadness. She pities him, and Roger can tell. Mimi lifts her hand and goes to place it on Roger's cheek, deciding at the last minute to put it on his shoulder.

"If only you could see the things you have, Roger. Things might be better for you that way."

It is typical of Mimi to say things like that, but Roger can hear the truth in those words echoing in his head. Mimi is a clever girl, and not one to take for granted. She gives him a sad smile and goes down to her apartment. Roger is left standing alone on the dark staircase.

* * *

Author's Note: Well? I wanna read your reviews now. I'm looking forward to them (good or bad)!


	11. Rhyme and Reason

Author's Note: Whoa. 94 reviews! I love you all! I loved to read all your responses to the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who offered help with Civilian. DreamingToThis is going to give me the songs (either on CD or via yahoo messenger). So a sequel will happen! Anyways. Here it is. Second to the last chapter. Not too fond of it. Life goes on. Enjoy! (By the way, I told you I'd update on Wednesay.)

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN: Rhyme and Reason**_

_I'm standing here pleading_

_And you just cover your eyes_

-- _Rhyme and Reason_

Roger has seen TV shows and movies where people who are feeling incredibly frustrated start smacking their heads against walls and desk. He, personally, has never felt like that. Until now. Things had been going so well … Roger knows where he screwed up. He isn't stupid, after all. He just doesn't understand why.

With a groan, Roger rolls over on the couch to block out the morning light. He hasn't slept at all. How could he? All that he can think about is Mark, and if he is alright. Roger feels like smacking himself. Of course Mark isn't alright. He clenches his eyes shut and fades into one of his fitful sleeps.

--

Mark pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he walks towards the loft. February is moving on to March, and with that comes sharp winds. Mark wishes he grabbed his scarf last night. He looks down to the ground, feeling horrible about simply leaving the loft. He doesn't think it was the right thing to do. Then again, it wasn't right of Roger to do what he did.

A scowl finds its way on to Mark's face, and it is directed at a rock that is kicked aside by Mark's shoe. When he looks up, Mark sees that he is almost at the loft. His pace slows down considerably. He starts preparing himself for anything that can happen. He's even preparing himself for things that most likely won't happen.

With slow, careful precision, Mark climbs up the stairs to the loft. He slides open the door a bit and peers inside, then walks inside. He notices Roger lying on the couch, asleep (amazingly not falling off), and thinks it's better not to wake him. Moving around silently, Mark takes off his jacket and pours himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. His eyes move towards the couch when he hears Roger waking up.

Roger stretches once his eyes are open, and he sits up. After giving a small yawn, he sits still for a moment, thinking about things. He stands up – stretching again – then goes to get a glass of water. He pauses when he sees Mark.

Mark looks at Roger, trying to read his face. He comes up with nothing.

"Morning," Mark says.

Roger swallows a bit. His mouth has gone dry.

"Morning." It's all he thinks he can manage to say. He doesn't even think he can move.

Mark quickly notices that this is going nowhere. He puts down his spoon and gives the tiniest of sighs.

"About me leaving last night … I … Should've stayed here instead of running off like that. Sorry."

"_You're_ sorry?" Roger blinks.

"Yes, I am. Is there something wrong with that?" Mark looks a bit annoyed. He hates it when people don't take his apologies seriously.

"Mark, you didn't do anything! I …" Roger suddenly loses his voice again. He looks to his feet. "I got carried away … I didn't want to … I'm the one here who should be apologizing."

Mark shakes his head.

"I knew you were sorry long before I even got back here, Roger. It's … Whatever it is, it's done now. It happened. We've got a strong enough bond to get over it." Mark smiles a bit.

Roger's smile is smaller, and tense. He wants to agree with Mark, but he knows that it won't be so easy. He just nods in response.

"You should get some sleep, Rog. You look dead."

Out of natural habit, Roger shoots Mark a sarcastic look. But he listens to the other man, and goes into his bedroom. As soon as the door is shut, Mark runs a hand through his hair.

--

Over the next few days, things are more than awkward. When Mark and Roger are in the same room together, they avoid each other. When they talk, the conversation isn't much. When one goes to hug the other, or kiss, or anything physical, it is met by unfeeling emotion. Day to day life is hardly the same, despite their best efforts.

Mark and Roger are sitting on the couch, Mark with his camera, Roger with his guitar. The only thing that is keeping them from being silent is the occasional chord from Roger. Mark swallows and looks at Roger. What he has to say cannot be postponed much longer.

"Roger … Can I … Talk to you about something?"

Roger merely nods. His attention at the moment is too much focused on his music, and he's sure that Mark is going to say something uninteresting.

"I think one of us needs to leave. Just for a bit."

It is the hardest thing Mark has ever had to say, and it catches Roger's attention instantly. He turns to look at Mark with unblinking eyes and frowns.

"What do you mean? Why?"

"Don't play stupid, Rog. Things haven't been … They're not normal anymore. We keep blocking each other's efforts … It's too … Awkward. I think we need a break from each other."

Roger simply stares. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows Mark's right. Hell, he's been thinking it, too. What other way was there to stop an addiction than to stay away from it?

"… I … Guess." Roger didn't want to give up that easily. "Isn't there something else to do?"

"If there was, I'd suggest it." Mark looks down sadly. "I've already started packing my things."

Roger hardly heard Mark, but the impact of the words were strong. He was sure Mark would ask him to leave. He didn't want to be left alone in the loft. He looks to the floor. Years of friendship are coming to an end. Neither Mark nor Roger ever thought they'd be separated until death.

"It's not forever, though." Mark's words are quick and rushed. "I mean … Just a couple of weeks or something. To sort things out."

Roger looks at Mark and grins a bit.

"Just a couple of weeks … We can do that."

"Yes." Mark grins a bit as well. He stands up. "I'll go pack some more then."

"Don't pack for a long time. Just a couple of weeks."

"I don't have enough stuff to pack for one week."

Mark and Roger laugh together uncomfortably, and Roger watches Mark retreat to his room.

* * *

Author's Note: Thoughts and comments? Let me know! One more chapter to go guys! 


	12. Undiscovered

Author's Note: Here it is. The end of this fanfiction. I made it! All with the help of you wonderful readers and reviewers! Over 100 reviews. I can't believe it. This was great, guys. I hope you enjoy this. :)

_**CHAPTER TWELVE: Undiscovered**_

_What you need you'll receive_

_Never be the same._

-- Undiscovered

A couple of weeks go by slowly, and to much dismay it is moving on to one month. It is an unspoken, mutual agreement. Mark and Roger haven't had the chance to make it spoken. They only communicate through Collins (not by choice – by default). Hopefully, Mark will return to the loft soon.

--

The first week was a bit rough for Roger. He cannot stand being alone, no matter how much it may not seem that way. It makes him think too much. Thinking makes him panic. Roger has always depended on someone. Independence doesn't work well with him. So, without Mark there, Roger was fretful and in complete disarray, unsure of what to do and what would happen. Out of desperation, Roger called up his old band mates. They all met up at a bar to catch up, and, before long, they were discussing practice times and possible gigs. Roger went home immediately after that and started working on new songs.

By now, Roger and the other have practiced frequently. Their first gig is the following evening, and Roger is making sure that everybody knows about it. He's determined to pester them all into going. More importantly, though, he's been bombarding Collins with phone calls. Maybe Mark will get the news about the gig and show up. That is what Roger is hoping for, at any rate.

He sits by the window, his guitar resting in his hands. Roger watches one of the first spring showers soak New York City, and the people down on the street who have no where to go to escape the rain. He pushes open the window slightly. A sudden cold wisp of wind hits him instantly, chilling his body. The sound of the rain fills his ears, and he looks up to the dark sky with a questioning face. Roger hopes a thunderstorm is coming soon. He loves the beauty in the chaos. Mark doesn't like thunderstorms. They make him nervous.

Roger closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall, breathing in the cool, crisp air. If Mark is at the gig, then Roger knows he will beg for his return to the loft. All of this being away from each stuff is getting out of hand, Roger figures. And, how is he supposed to know if he's gotten better if Mark is never around? A small sigh escapes Roger when he opens his eyes. He closed the window, picks up his guitar, and walks to his room. He's got a long day ahead of him.

--

Just as Roger figured, the next day is busy. He is up earlier than usual, out of excitement and nerves. The first thing he does is take a shower. It relaxes him. Plus, he wants to look good for his first show in forever. He gets dressed, eats a quick breakfast, and picks up the phone. As he calls up the club to double check the time of the show, Roger makes a mental note to talk to the guys about getting some sort of a manager. They have always split the responsibility of booking gigs and doing everything a manager does, and Roger wonders if that's what led them to their break-up in the first place. He scribbles down all the information he gets from the phone call, and then phones up his friends, leaving more messages for them all. This way, Roger knows that they can't use the excuse about not knowing when and were they were supposed to go.

Next, Roger phones up the other band members. He gives them all reminders to bring everything they need to their practice that day, because to hell if he's going to let anything go wrong. He hangs up the phone at long last, grabs his guitar and amp, and double checks for any problems. Satisfied with his search, Roger grabs his jacket and key, and leaves.

The band spends the day practicing non-stop. They use this time ironing out all the bumps and creases, bouncing suggestions off one another like they've never done before. They all know where they stand as musicians and where they want to go, and, for right now, at least, little problems like a messed up chord don't send them all into a fit. It is only when they all agree that everything is as good as it can get that they move all they're things to the club and then go take a couple hours off to hype themselves up.

--

The energy at the club that night is at an all time high. Roger paces on the spot, shaking with the anticipation of returning to something he loves so much. He rolls his neck a bit, stretches and shakes his arms, getting rid of any tension that may be hiding inside of him. There is no room on a stage for tension. He gives his band mates a nod, and once they're in front of a crowd and playing again, each one of them forgets everything. Well, almost everything.

While Roger sings familiar words into the microphone, his eyes scan the crowd for his friends. One by one, he sees them all, and it's like reaching a high off of heroin. The only person he cannot find, is Mark.

Almost right on cue, Mark slips into the club, breathing heavily. He had been sleeping, and thank God he had woken up or else he would've missed the show completely. He moves away from the door, and stands by the bar, watching Roger do what he does best. He sees Roger's eyes roam the crowd before him. To all those people there, it just looks like Roger is trying to make a connection to them. Mark knows better. He moves to a spot in the club where Roger is bound to see him, and waits.

Sure enough, it's only seconds before Roger sees Mark and their eyes connect. A large grin breaks out on to Roger's face, and Mark grins back, even waves a little. He feels a slight bubbling in his stomach, knowing immediately what it is. It is the rebirth of a friendship, and the start of something undiscovered.

* * *

Author's Note: Don't be angry about where this is left off. There is a sequel! As soon as I get the Civilian songs, I'll start writing it. Thank you all again. You've made this story a treat to write. I'd love to hear your final thoughts. :_many hugs_: 


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